


Late Nights at the Nite-Owl

by dustjacket



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grocery Store, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awkwardness, Bisexual Dan, F/M, Laurie is a badass, M/M, Slackers, Unhappy Young People, Walter Isn't Rorschach, Weird Old People
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:32:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5037541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dustjacket/pseuds/dustjacket
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Walter Kovacs just been fired. Again.<br/>Fortunately, his neighbor Daniel has offered to get him a job at an an all-night grocery store.<br/>Unfortunately, Daniel also seems to want to be his friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Nights at the Nite-Owl

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, ya'll. Having too much fun with this, drawing from my own lame-ass experiences working in a grocery store. Few quick notes going into this fic:  
> -It's planned to be about nine chapters.  
> -It's about of slacker twenty-somethings so lots of cursing, drinking, and smoking of various substances.  
> -There will be one or two instances where homophobic slurs are used for the purpose of the story, and I will always mark the chapters if there's anything particularly gross (once in this first chapter).  
> -I'm honestly not too experienced writing anything sexually explicit, so this is mostly a soft M for language and implied events. When the time comes to write that particular chapter, I will try my best.  
> -I'll occasionally mention songs that go with the fic cause I'm a huge dork.

    "I don't think I've seen anyone who wasn't LITERALLY tripping balls get fired from here before." his co-worker (former), said to him, cracking her gum. Walter ignored her as he rinsed his face over the emergency eyewash station. “You proud of yourself, ginger?”

       Walter grunted and turned to leave, watching his coworker’s reflection flip him off in the inset window on the break-room door. His manager (former) and a small crowd of customers had gathered by the registers to watch him leave. Top 40 pop hummed in the air and Walter had a passing thought about how, despite his hatred of this song, he knew all its lyrics by heart. Such was the fate of the retail worker. He took a last glance at the streaks of egg and broken shells littering the register area. They'd want to clean that before it got too sticky, he could already see it hardening in the hair of the two familiar customers (former) who were sneering next to his manager. The automatic doors swished shut behind him.

       He crossed the oil-stained parking lot in the summer heat and paused on the strip of dead grass that ran along the sidewalk, digging in his pocket for change and coming up with three quarters and a dime. Short on bus fare. He set out walking against the traffic that sped down the narrow highway. He had gone a few blocks when he caught his reflection in the window of an empty store and carefully unpinned his nametag from the stained red polo shirt he was wearing, tucking it into pocket of his jeans.

       It took him forty-five minutes to walk home, across the highway and through the parking lots of several other shopping centers where he was no longer employed. It was dark by now, his dilapidated apartment building look even less welcoming in the dim streetlight; the window was lit in the landlady’s unit on the first floor letting out a stream of loud voices and blaring television noises. Walter made an effort to skirt the shadows around the yellowed crabgrass lawn and quietly unlock the door to the downstairs mailroom. There was a post-it on his mailbox, a scrawled ‘Kovacs-RENT NOW.’ Thankfully, the landlady’s door was closed and he quickly went up the dim staircase.

       He was nearly to the fifth floor when he heard a hollow, metallic clunk somewhere above him; four more clunks and a dented can rolled down the stairs, coming to a stop against his foot. He bent down and picked it up. 'Heinz Baked Beanz in Tomato Sauce.'

       There was another series of clunks and two more cans appeared. Walter gathered them up and found the source of the cans standing on the landing; his across-the-hall-two-units-down neighbor, Daniel, struggling with a torn paper bag. Daniel cursed under his breath as another two cans dropped from his arms and turned when Walter cleared his throat.

       "Hey! Uh, Walt, right?" Daniel smiled.

       "Walter." He picked up the cans on the floor and grabbed a few more that were in danger of falling from Daniel's arms.

       "Oh, uh, thanks Walter! I—Jeez, what happened to you?" Daniel was looking him up and down and Walter remembered that there was still dried egg streaked across his shirt and drying in his hair.

       "Work incident."

       "Sorry man, everything cool?" Daniel looked sympathetic as they walked onto their fifth floor.

       "I was fired."

       "Oh...that sucks. Sorry."

       They both fell silent, Daniel biting his lip and Walter making eye contact with a point somewhere to the left of his head.

       "You enjoy beans?" Walter asked, that appeared to be the only thing in the paper bag.

       “Huh?” Daniel looked confused, then down at his arms. "Oh, these. Not a whole lot actually. You can take a few cans if you want."  Daniel quickly followed this up, seeing Walter’s blank stare. "Oh! I work in a grocery store and my boss lets us take home the dented cans. A display fell over today.."

       Daniel laughed and the silence stretched on for several seconds afterwards. "Anyway...I have way more than I need."

       "Don't take charity." Walter grunted, trying to hand the beans back.

       "Chari—what? No! Its just beans, man. I don't want them!" Daniel ignored the cans that were being shoved at him. He had managed to retrieve his keys from his pocket and was walking towards his door. "Seriously, take them. It's probably not healthy for me to eat this many." Walter followed, planning on dumping the cans as Daniel was entering his apartment, but found himself expertly avoided.

       “Listen, I gotta be back at work in, like, six hours. Nice to see you man.” Daniel slipped in the front door as Walter made a last attempt to shove the cans at him. “Good luck with the job search.”

       The door latched shut and Walter was left standing, arms still full. He raised a hand to knock but paused, looking down at the doormat he was standing on, a cartoon owl and the words ‘Whooo goes there?’ He lined up the cans on the edge of the mat and crossed the hall, glancing back at Daniel’s door before entering his own tiny apartment.

       Walter’s twin bed and the small kitchenette dominated the single room; he flicked the switch by the front door. Nothing happened. The one in the bathroom was off as well and the inside of the fridge was dark.

       “Dammit…” Apparently his landlady was moving onto means of communication that were less passive aggressive than post-its.

       He opened the curtains that covered the window above the kitchen sink to let in the dim light from the alley behind the building and ate the rest of the macaroni and cheese he had stored in the fridge sitting on his bed, trying to avoid thinking about the other food that would go bad before morning. Fortunately, his cheap flip-phone still had a bit of charge, enough to last until he could go to the public library tomorrow to print out resumes. Getting ready for bed in the dark and laying out a cleanish button-up shirt, Walter fell into an uneasy sleep.

*****

       The next day, after scrounging together bus fare and stopping at the library, Walter started canvassing the nearby strip malls and residential shopping areas. This was not the right time of year to be job-hunting; any seasonal positions that had been open over the summer were gone and there wouldn’t be any new ones until November. It was also Friday and anyone who did the actual hiring had already left for the weekend. He pestered several bored employees in a dry cleaner, a GameStop, and a convenience store into taking into his resume, hoping that they would actually put in on file and not immediately toss it in the recycling or use it as a coaster.

       He tugged at the collar of his button-up shirt as he walked, sweat running down the back of his neck. The unseasonably warm Fall morning had given way to a blistering afternoon and he could feel the sunburn developing on his face and lower arms. He stopped and looked at the covered shopping center across the road. He had worked there for a few months earlier that year as a shop assistant in a magic and novelty store and had not left on particularly good terms, to say the least. But he knew the inside of the complex was air-conditioned and there was a public bathroom; taking a break to cool down and freshen up for the next round of aggressive resume distribution might be a good idea.

       The inside of the complex was blessedly cool and mostly empty. The kiosk that sold over-priced plastic cell phone covers when Walter had worked there had been replaced with a booth that sold over-priced mini cars and helicopters you could control with a smartphone, and the lone employee was lazily piloting one of the toys above the heads of a few meandering customers. The mall security guard, a burly older man Walter hadn't seen before, was lounging on a bench and watching the tiny helicopter make figure eights. Behind him, three unattended children were screaming and running laps around the dry fountain, drained earlier this year as a drought measure. Walter passed the store where he used to work; the neon sign that read 'Moloch's Magic, Toys, Games, and Gifts' was dark, but the doors were open. The front displays were packed with dust-covered boxes and behind them Walter could see the grey hair of the owner, Edgar Jacobi, head bent over a newspaper.

       After splashing cold water on his face and trying unsuccessfully to smooth out his hair in the bathroom, Walter considered his options. He already had resumes on file with most of the stores in this building and knew they weren't planning on hiring anyone soon. But Mr. Jacobi was short-handed, that much was evident from the window displays, unchanged since Walter had worked there over six months ago. If he could convince him to give him another chance...maybe the events that lead to his firing had blown over. Walter steeled himself and left the restroom, making a beeline for the magic shop.

       Inside, there was only Mr. Jacobi, two teenage boys giggling over the novelty foam breasts that hung on a wall, and a middle-aged man digging through the half-price box. Walter gripped his folder of resumes tighter; Mr. Jacobi was leaning over a crossword puzzle, muttering to himself and scratching away with a golf pencil. Walter coughed. Mr. Jacobi glanced sourly up from his puzzle and froze.

       "You! I told you not to come back here!" Jacobi's sallow face was turning pink and he jumped up, leaning across the counter.

       "Mr. Jacobi..." Walter held out a hand.

       "You have some nerve showing up back here, after what you did!" Jacobi was spitting now, furious. "I almost got sued because of you!"

       "Was just hoping we could ta—"

       "No! No talking!" The two teenagers were watching with raised eyebrows and smirks, Jacobi leaned passed Walter and yelled towards the door. "Eddie! Get in here!"

       The security guard poked his head around the door. "What're you yelling about Jacobi?"

       "You get this....psychopath out of my store!" Jacobi pointed a finger at Walter. "I don't want to see him in here again, ever!"

       "Alright, alright, calm the hell down." The security guard, Eddie apparently, approached Walter. "C'mon kid, let's go."

       "I...just wanted to talk!" Walter could feel his face growing warm, anger bubbling in his stomach.

       "Don't want any trouble..." Eddie reached a huge hand out and grabbed Walter's shoulder. Walter lunged backwards, recoiling. "Jesus, guy! Calm down!"

       "Walk on my own." Walter spat, "Don't need assistance."

       "Okay! Okay!" Eddie held his hands up, "No touching, fine. Let's go!"

       Walter followed Eddie out, shooting a glare at Mr. Jacobi who glowered right back. Once out of the store, Walter headed for the doors to the outside. Eddie lumbered behind him.

       "Wait a sec kid, what did you do to piss off Jacobi so bad?"

       Walter paused, looking at the man. He had a better view of him now. He was large, but not overweight; save for the cheap uniform, he could have been a real police officer. A long scar ran from the right side of his mouth all the way to his cheekbone, giving him a permanent lopsided grin. There was a smiley-face pin on his right lapel, slightly askew above the nametag embroidered 'Eddie.'

       "I worked there. Caught a shoplifter." Walter mumbled.

       "Why would he be pissed about that?"

       "Broke shoplifter's hand. He threatened to sue Mr. Jacobi."

       "You broke his fucking HAND?"

       "Heat of the moment."

       "Jesus, kid. Can't say I don't admire the balls it takes to do that." Eddie gave him a sideways grin, "Or the balls to come back here."

       "I need a job."

       "Well, I wouldn't look around here. Next time he'll call the cops."

       "Yes, sir. Leaving now." Walter nodded and slouched out, not noticing the paper that slipped from his folder.

       "Kid! You dropped-" Eddie picked up the paper and waved it, but Walter had already passed through the glass doors and was crossing the parking lot. Eddie shrugged to himself, scrunching up the paper, but as he was about to toss the paper in the nearby garbage can, he stopped. Un-balling it, he slumped back down on his bench and started looking over the wrinkled resume.

       "Walter Kovacs, huh?

*****

       Several unsuccessful hours of job-hunting later, Walter was back at the apartment building. He had managed to avoid the landlady, but almost tripped over the cans of beans on his doormat. He left them, not having the energy to move them back over to Daniel's door. Inside the apartment, he soon discovered that his water had been shut off. He groaned, feeling the stickiness of his clothes and the grime of walking around the town seeping into his skin. After standing with his head against the wall for a few minutes, try to ignore his complaining stomach, he stripped out of his nice-ish black pants and shirt and carefully hung them over the bathroom door. He lay down in his undershirt and boxers, staring at the ceiling; his limbs ached, his burnt skin throbbed, and his guts felt like they were being squeezed inside of him. If he couldn't get a job in the next few days he was screwed. The landlady would have him out by the end of the week, and his last check from his most recent job wouldn't show up for a while. He had managed to squeak by in this apartment during his last bout of unemployment but eviction was looming this time, and he didn’t have close to enough to put down for a new place. Walter's eyelids grew heavy as he stared at the ceiling, the knot in his stomach still tight.

       There was someone knocking. Walter started from his fitful sleep, looking around the dark room; there was shadow across the sliver of light that shone in under his door, someone standing. The knock came again.

       Walter glanced at his phone, then realized the battery had finally died. He got up and peered through the cloudy peephole. It was not the landlady as he had feared, but Daniel, face warped in the tiny window. Walter unbolted the door and cracked it open, squinting in the bright light of the hallway.

       "Don't want the beans, Daniel."

       "I—What?" Daniel looked confused.

       "The cans." Walter pointed and Daniel glanced down.

       "Oh, those beans." He looked sheepish.

       "What do you want?" Walter opened the door a little wider, past the point of caring that he was only half-dressed.

       Daniel looked nervous. "Did you, uh...really break a guy's hand?"

       "How do you know about that?"

       "This is yours, right?" Daniel held out a wrinkled piece of paper that Walter recognized as his resume, "Eddie brought it to the store."

       "Eddie? Security guard?"

       "Yeah, he works for us too...anyway, did you really break a guy's hand?"

       Daniel did not have any combination of the shocked, worried, or nervous looks Walter was used to seeing when other people were confronted with his poor decisions. He seemed merely curious.

       "...yes." Walter started closing the door. "Goodnight, Daniel."

       "Wait!" Daniel stuck a foot in the doorway. "Are you still looking for a job?"

       Walter paused. "Why?"

       "'Cause I think I might have something for you."

       "What is it?"

       "Same place I work."

       "The grocery store?"

       "Yeah, but there's a catch." Daniel took his foot out of the door, satisfied that he had Walter's attention. "It's a graveyard shift, nine at night to six in the morning."

       "I can do that." Walter tried not to sound too eager, not wanting Daniel to know how desperate he was.

       "Great, my boss really wants to meet you." Daniel grinned.

       "How soon could I interview?"

       "You could come in tomorrow morning, but I have this idea..."

       "What?"

       "Wanna come in with me now, see how it is? Sort of a pre-interview?”

       “Sure...that would be great.” Walter paused, “What time is it now?”

       “It’s around midnight.” Daniel looked guilty, “I’m actually on break right now, but I knew I probably wouldn’t see you in the morning.”

       “Shouldn’t you be getting back?”

       “Yeah, but I have time. My co-worker is holding down the fort.” Daniel grinned, “I’m bribing him with coffee, so we’ll have to stop and get some on our way over.”

       “OK, let me just…” Walter stopped, remembering his greasy hair and unwashed face. “I...uh, I can’t.”

       “Why not?”

       “Nothing, I just...thank you, Daniel. You should go back to work.” Walter could feel his face burning, turning away to close the door.

       “Wait, c’mon, what’s going on?” He grabbed the knob, resisting Walter’s pulls. “It’s a nice job, Walt!”

       “It’s Walter!” he tugged harder at the door, Daniel was surprisingly strong.

       “Do you need clothes or something? I don’t think anything of mine would fit you, but—”

       “It’s…” Walter grunted, pulling harder “...not that!”

       “What, then? Let me help!”

       Walter slumped, limbs too sore to resist any more. “My shower’s broken.” he muttered.

       “Is that it?” Daniel raised his eyebrows. “You can just use mine, dude.”

       “No.” Walter tried to push the door shut again, but Daniel still held it at bay.

       “I’m not gonna try to murder you or anything, I swear.” Daniel paused, “That probably didn’t sound as reassuring as I wanted it to. But seriously, just use my bathroom.”

       Walter leaned against the door, staring off into space, considering any alternatives he might have. He couldn’t see any. “Fine.”

       “Really?” Daniel smiled and Walter felt his stomach do a flip, which he valiantly ignored. “Sweet, grab your stuff and we can go.”

       Walter nodded and went back into his room, leaving the door open a crack. He suspected that Daniel might start yelling if he closed it all the way, and he didn’t want any curious neighbors looking into the hall. He dug around in the duffelbag under his bed where he kept most of his clothes. He found a clean white t-shirt, but his only pair of nice-ish jeans still had egg on them and his interview pants smelled like the smog he had spent all day walking through. His eyes fell on a tightly folded item stuffed into the corner of the bag, and he pulled out a pair of eggplant-colored skinny jeans. He had picked them up years ago in one of his foster homes from a box of donations, spotting them immediately but holding back until the other kids could pick over the clothes. The other boys in the house had immediately declared them ‘faggy’ and tossed them aside, but he snuck them away and hid them, telling himself that they were well-made and it would be a waste to throw them away.

           He had never actually worn them outside the confines of his apartment, but they were the only thing he had that was clean and work-appropriate. He gathered them up along with his shirt, clean boxers, beige windbreaker, and resume folder. After grabbing his toothbrush and soap from the bathroom, he crossed the hall into the other apartment with Daniel, glancing around to make sure no one else was around to see him in his half-dressed state.

       Daniel’s apartment was larger than his, with a combo living room/kitchen, a bedroom, and a bathroom with an actual bath. It was untidy, but not particularly dirty; there were books scattered around the living room and half-disassembled electronics took up most of the kitchen table. The couch looked like it had been slept on recently, there was several unwashed mugs on the coffee table.

       “I’m just gonna sit out here and call work okay?” Daniel waved a hand, “Don’t worry, it’ll be fine for us to stay here a little longer. I’ve barely been home anyway…”

    “Thank you, Daniel.”

    “Don’t mention it. And it’s just Dan.”

       Walter tried to make his shower quick; he changed into his clean clothes, brushed his teeth, and tried to get his damp hair into some sort of order with his fingers, ignoring Daniel’s comb sitting on the sink counter. He looked around the bathroom, unsure what to do with his wet bar of soap, before settling on wrapping it in a paper towel and putting it in his pocket with his toothbrush. He wasn’t planning on using Daniel’s bathroom again, if he could help it.

       Daniel was asleep on the sofa when he came out, head leaning back at an awkward angle. Walter glanced up at the wall clock in the kitchen, it was around 1:30. For some reason, Daniel had an owl decoy on top of his fridge. Walter turned back, watching Daniel for a few seconds before loudly clearing his throat.

       “Aagh!” Daniel jumped, “...oh, geez, sorry Walt—.” He pulled his glasses up and rubbed at his eyes. “I’ve been working doubles the past two weeks, barely getting any sleep.”

       “Hrm.”

       “You can see why we need a new...why is your pocket dripping?”

       Walter looked down, only to see that the bar of soap in his pocket had soaked through the fabric.

       “...my soap.”

       “I...uh…” Daniel looked confused, “...you can leave that here, you know.”

       “It’s fine.”

       “No, seriously, leave it here. I don’t want you dripping in my car.”

        They stared at each other for a few seconds, before Walter turned around and returned to the bathroom, assuming he would never see this particular bar of soap again.

       “Okay! Let’s go!” Daniel was energetic, eager to move on.

       The apartment building was silent, the only movement a few moths circling the light in the mailroom. Daniel pointed to a beat-up Volkswagen Beetle as they walked across the lawn.

       “That’s my car.”

        He unlocked the passenger door first and cleared several books and random chargers off the seat. “Sorry, it’s a bit of a mess, I’ve been sleeping in here when I didn’t have time to get home.”

       “You do that often?” Walter climbed in, and Daniel shut the door and went around to the driver’s side.

       “Not too much, but we’re short-handed now. And since we’re 24-hours...well, sometimes Mr. Mason needs me to stick close by.”

       “Your boss?”

       “Yeah, you’ll meet him tomorrow. Only the younger staff works nights.” Daniel’s phone buzzed and he glanced at the screen.

       “Shit, almost forgot Adrian’s fuckin’ coffee.” he turned to Walter, “Do NOT let me forget to go by Starbucks.”

       “Adrian?”

        “One of my co-workers. He’s the one you’d be replacing on nights; he HATES them. Supposedly ‘cause it cuts down on partying, but I think he just wants to go home and hang out with his cat.”

       “Can’t wait to met him.” Walter sounded unenthusiastic. Daniel laughed and started the car, which sputtered into life. The stereo, several decades newer than the vehicle itself, sprung to life and started blaring “Anaconda” at top volume. Daniel cursed and dove for the volume, “Shit! I don’t know WHY it does that EVERY GODDAMN TIME I…” he caught a glimpse of Walter’s face, “Alright, first official rule of the store, no dissing Nicki Minaj. We’re all fans. Well, except for Jon. And he’s the one that actually controls the music, so…” he trailed off, “Still, don’t diss Nicki.”

       “Wasn’t planning on it, Daniel.”

       “Just Dan, seriously.” Daniel pulled out into the quiet street, “I can tell we’re gonna get along just fine, Walt.”

       “Walter.”

       “Whatever.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a beta, so any critiques are welcome.


End file.
